


Paint My Dream

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolina won't let Sarge paint her armor. He does the next best thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint My Dream

**Author's Note:**

> It's marked explicit but I didn't feel like writing the actual details so it's got a fade to black for the good part. Just too explicit in the other parts to really qualify for a softer rating.

Where he got the paint is anyone’s guess but it doesn’t really come as a surprise.

“You know I never really joined either team,” Carolina says, watching Sarge in amusement as he pushes her armor under the bed, out of sight. “Teal just happens to be my favorite color.”

He looks downright offended at that, grunts irritably and and pries the lid off the pot of paint. It’s red, the same shade of red as his armor (pure red, he’d called it).

“Lie back,” he says. “If you won’t let me paint your armor I’m going to paint you instead.”

She’s never done anything like this before. The idea has her intrigued and tingling; she lays back on the cot, arms folded behind her head so she can watch him. For a long moment he just sits there, looking down at her appreciatively, eyes raking over her body like she’s a feast and he can’t wait to devour her.

Before he starts, he sets the brush down and tugs at the waist band of her panties (red, a gift for him, bought on her last trip into the city) with a questioning look in his eyes. “Do you mind if these get paint on them?”

“I can wash them. But I don’t want paint that close to my junk anyway…”

“I know, but splatter is a thing.” He runs his hands along the fabric, thumbing her slit through the thin cloth before returning to his paints. He makes a great show of selecting the right brush- a wide brush first, with thick, heavy bristles- and dips it in the paint.

The first swipe of the brush across her belly has her tensing instinctively, then shivering as she lets herself relax. The paint is cold and slick against her skin, and he doesn’t seem to be following any sort of pattern as he concentrates on coating her in red.

When he finally sets this brush down her front is a canvas of thick red streaks, crisscrossing and overlapping each other at all angles. He seems satisfied with this, and selects a second brush, this one much more delicate.

He brushes patterns into the paint with this one, swirls of red on red and red on skin. The thin, fine tip leaves goosebumps in its wake as he barely touches her with it, instead opting to trail it just barely over her skin.

When he is satisfied with his work with that brush, he leans back to admire his handiwork. She props up on her elbows to look down at herself- there is paint all over her, on her chest and stomach (there’s a heart around each nipple, how cute), over her legs and arms, down to her feet and around her fingers. She’s covered in painted red patterns everywhere below her collar line except around her crotch and he’s grinning.

“Gorgeous,” he says, and there’s a lustful gleam in his eye that she’ll later find amusing but right _now_ all she can think is how good it feels to be looked at with such obvious desire, so she sits up and pushes him down against the cot, grinning down at him.

“Maybe I should paint you now,” she says, and kisses him.

—

By the time she puts her armor back on, much, much later, her body is an array of red streaks and smudged patterns and handprints. His isn’t much different where he lays watching her dress; he’s lying on his front and she can see the hand prints on his ass where she’d grabbed him, pulling him closer, urging him deeper, begging for more- she feels a possessive flutter in her chest over these marks, these hand prints that mark him as _hers_ , and she knows he must feel the same if the way he’s watching her is any indication.

“Ya might live at blue base and wear blue armor,” he says, watching with obvious disappointment as her body suit is zipped, as her blue armor is put into place to cover up the red marks. “But you and I both know you’re a red at heart.”

“I’m neither. I only live at blue base so Epsilon can be near his friends. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He stands and drags her into a possessive kiss, one with such intensity she wonders if she should start taking her armor back off, but he doesn’t seem interested in taking it any further. “But one of these days I’m going to persuade you to come over here where you belong. In the meantime I’ll just enjoy thinking of you waltzing into blue base with red under your blue.”

“You take this way too seriously,” she says fondly. She gives him one last kiss before pulling her helmet back on, and heading out with a wave.

**Author's Note:**

> She probably left him with Tucker, but I'm still just picturing Epsilon sat on her helmet with his back to them, screaming internally.


End file.
